Julia, In Her Own Words
by Gypsy Love
Summary: First person story of Julia meeting Joey and leaving Albert and Craig.
1. Chapter 1

I'd gone to that used car lot to look for a second car. We could afford a brand new one, it was no problem with Albert's salary. He made more money than I'd ever seen. But I was sick of his money. I didn't need a brand new car. A nice used one would do fine. I mean, I figured, what about Craig? What is it doing to him growing up with all this extravagant waste?

So I went, and I couldn't help feeling the power that Albert's money brought. I could buy any of these cars, any one I wanted.

"Hello. Can I help you?" The salesman, the one from the commercials. He seemed so friendly, so open and giving in a way that Albert was not. Definitely not. But that was first impression crap. What did I know? They way I was feeling every man was scum, secret scum at heart.

"Um, yeah. I'd like to buy a car,"

He smiled, because I guess I was probably a sale in the bag. But I felt such a good feeling from him, like he was kind and considerate and that maybe, maybe he wasn't violent and belittling and infuriating like my husband was. Maybe.

So we talked about the specifics, and I told him I didn't really care what kind and what color and all that, but I would like it to be his best, most reliable car. That was the power of Albert's money, and he gave me that look that I hadn't grown up with and couldn't get used to. That deferential look.

We went into his office and he started talking about payment plans and I shook my head.

"That won't be necessary," I said, "I have enough to pay for it,"

There was a picture of a little girl on his desk, and I thought maybe that was his daughter so I asked him.

"No, that's Emma. My friend's daughter," He smiled at the picture of the little blond girl, and I smiled, too, happy for some reason that he didn't have kids.

"How about you? Married? Kids?"

"Yeah," I said, disturbed at how upset I sounded. About the marriage, not Craig. I loved Craig more than anything. I just felt that I ruined his life.

"How many?" he said, and I looked at him.

"How many what?" I said.

"How many kids?"

"Oh, um, one. A boy, Craig. He's a great kid, really. A really great kid," I was almost in tears. Oh my God. In the office of this stranger I was going to break down and cry. Because Craig was a great kid. So smart and so kind, so creative. But I saw new things in him now. Fear. I saw him second guessing his father just like I did. I saw anger just under the surface. He was so young. Eight years old. And me and Albert, we were fucking him up.

"Well, that's good," He was puzzled. No wonder. I just shook my head but the tears wouldn't go away. They spilled over.

"What's wrong?" he asked in alarm as I pulled a tissue from my purse.

"Nothing, I'm sorry. I've just been a little emotional lately. I'm fine," I smiled and stopped crying. What a freak I was. But I just felt so comfortable around this person, this man, and I hadn't felt comfortable around men in years.

"I'm Joey, by the way," he said, and smiled wide, "Joey Jeremiah,"

He offered his hand and I shook it, offering up my own name in return.

"I'm Julia. Julia Manning,"

I drove home in my new car, having traded in my old one. I got there before the bus was due to drop Craig off. He was in third grade. He came home, kind of burst in the door and I was so happy to see him I felt like I would burst.

"Mommy!" He had a bunch of papers he'd done at school and I looked through them, praised him for how good he was doing. His hair was getting a little long. It was so curly. I ran my fingers through it, smiled at him but a little sadly.

We waited through the long afternoon for Albert to come home, both of us growing quieter and quieter, and I felt the tension. Craig picked up on it, too. We both knew how unpredictable Albert could be, how angry he could be. I knew his job was stressful, I knew. But that didn't excuse it. Not at all.

He came home. Albert Manning. My husband. Father of my child. Someone who was so unpredictable. What did I ever see in him? How was it that I did not foresee this?

I looked at Craig who looked at Albert with wide eyes. Cautious eyes. How would he be today?

"That goddamn hospital-" he threw his bag and his coat down on the rug, and Craig gasped and ran upstairs. He had that option and I didn't begrudge him. I didn't. I'd have to face the storm.

"What happened?" I said softly, but I stayed on the couch.

"That son of a bitch Steinberg I could kill him-"

Albert tended to just cut off what he was saying, to just stop dead in a sentence. I looked at him with glassy fearful eyes. He was mad. When he was mad like this two people paid the price. Me and Craig. I ran my hand nervously along my pant leg, watched him, wished I could bolt upstairs like Craig did.

He ranted for awhile longer, but he didn't start yelling at me, turning his anger on me like he sometimes did. Usually it was me but sometimes Craig. I felt like I could take it, even punches and slaps and kicks, whatever it was. But it wasn't fair for that to happen to Craig, when he was so little, and he didn't deserve it. What kind of a mother was I, anyway? Letting my child stay here where he got hit? But Albert had all the money, and I had nowhere to turn to, nowhere to go. And I kept thinking, like some mental patient, that Albert would change. That he'd stopped taking out his frustrations on us. I thought this again and again.

The storm had passed. Albert stalked off to his study, and I breathed a sigh of relief. And I thought of Joey. Joey Jeremiah who I had met today, who had seemed so nice and kind. I closed my eyes and felt a strange moment of happiness, thinking about him. Then I stood up and headed upstairs to Craig's room, to let him know that I was okay.


	2. Chapter 2

Up the stairs to Craig's room in my beautiful house. Actually it was Albert's house, all of this was Albert's, and he didn't let me forget it. I was at the point where I'd be happier in a small run down apartment if I didn't have to face the storm every day. That's how I thought of Albert and his moods, his anger. It was a storm.

I stood outside his door. He was coloring or drawing or something but he was worrying. I could see it in his eyes. He was worrying about me. I knocked softly and he looked up.

"Hey, buddy," I said, and smiled. And I saw the worry dissolve and then he did this thing, it was like he looked like he was never worrying at all. I did something similar. It was like, why should he be worrying about his father screaming at and hitting his mother? That wasn't something he should be worrying about so when there was no cause for worry he'd pretend he never worried at all.

"Hi," he said, and there was just a little bit of shakiness left in his voice, the only clue he had worried at all.

After Craig would go to sleep I'd usually have a drink with Albert, provided, of course, we didn't have a fight. No fight tonight, though it had trembled in the air there for awhile. I drank more than I should. I understood that, I mean, I recognized that. I recognized a lot of things that weren't quite what they should be but at that point I was powerless against them. I was drinking a martini, and it wouldn't be my only one. I felt better when I was drinking. It made everything less serious. And things were serious.

I could listen to Albert talk about work or whatever he was talking about and feign interest. I didn't talk about anything. What did I have to say? He was a surgeon. A surgeon. He saved people. It was the job that was closest to God. I was a housewife. I didn't do anything, I had nothing to contribute, nothing to say. So I sipped my drink and listened to him, nodded and smiled and thought about my next drink.

In bed that night I thought about Joey Jeremiah at the used car lot. His open smile. His kind eyes. His down to earthness. I wished, well, I didn't know what I wished. Maybe I just wanted to see him again.

In the mornings I make breakfast for Craig, and sometimes Albert will have some breakfast depending on when his first surgery is scheduled. Morning is a safe time because Albert's on his way to work. There isn't time for a screaming match, or anything. Morning is my best time, when I feel hopeful for some reason. Sipping coffee, looking out the window at the perfectly manicured lawn. Watching Craig eat breakfast, his eyes all sleepy.

They leave together, sometimes Albert drives Craig but sometimes he takes the bus, it depends on Albert's schedule. I hug myself, sip my coffee, watch them go. It's in the mornings that I think about when I loved Albert. I loved him once. I didn't love him anymore. What happened was I loved him, we got married, we had Craig, and then…I don't know. He became head of this department and that and he started getting angry, and he started yelling at me about things. About little things that didn't matter, like the color of curtains or the choices of meals or something to do with Craig. Craig mattered, of course. But it was things like what he wore or why he did this or that or why I did certain things, and the anger was so much, so intense it would fill the room. And I would be so upset, so mad back, but I would forgive him. I would make excuses for him, that he was stressed out at work or whatever, and I would forgive him. And during one of the fights when Craig was still so little, he hit me. And I couldn't believe it. Was I this person? This sort of battered wife person? Despite being rich was I actually in an abusive relationship? I couldn't quite fathom it.

It was different than I thought, because I saw those movies like "The Burning Bed" and after school specials and things about the whole battered wife thing and if it isn't happening to you it's easy to say, "Well, I'd just leave. What's wrong with her? I wouldn't put up with that," But being inside it, it's different. I loved Albert, he was my husband, the father of my child, the financial supporter of the family. I loved him and I forgave him and I thought he could change, or that I could manage to not make him so angry. And I felt bad about myself. I felt almost deserving of his anger at times. I felt small and worthless at times. I felt sort of afraid of what Albert would do. How he would be. And the thought of leaving him was so scary. He had all the money. He'd get Craig and he wouldn't let me see him, ever. I'd have nowhere to go. I had no skills. No survival skills. Who would hire me? How would I support myself? Myself and Craig? There was just no way to do it. I couldn't see a way.

So I had until Craig came home from school. I could go to the car lot and see if I could get some kind of…warranty or something. I could do that. I drove there thinking about Joey, his sharp eyes, his tan skin. And I thought about how one day I just stopped forgiving Albert. So the fights and the slaps and the punches all started to add up, each one chipping away at the love that was left until it was all gone. I drove down the streets in Toronto aware that I was in a loveless marriage to a very violent man. I was aware that I drank too much. I was aware that my son was frequently in danger and that he was changing in negative ways because of it. And I was aware that if Albert knew what I was up to he'd be displeased, to say the least.

"Mrs. Manning," Joey greeted me, and I smiled, but sort of cringed at the Mrs. Manning bit. I didn't like having the same name that Albert had. Not anymore.

"It's Julia," I said, "please,"

"Okay, Julia," That wide smile, those eyes. I liked him so immediately. So I smiled and ducked my head.


	3. Chapter 3

What was I doing? I felt this glassy fear. This was not cool. If Albert found out that I was here, well, it wouldn't be good.

"Would you like to go get a cup of coffee somewhere?" Joey said, and I noticed the way his eyes looked when he smiled.

"Sure," I said breathlessly, and tried to tell myself that I was overreacting. It was just coffee. I wasn't sleeping with him or anything, I wasn't doing anything that Albert would object to, and he wouldn't find out anyway.

I followed him across the sunny lot and to his car, a green convertible with soft leather seats. I focused on his hand as it turned the key in the ignition. I understood that I spent a lot of time arranging my life around Albert. Around Albert's moods. I knew that I was doing it, I knew that I would act according to how he was acting. I resented it.

He drove to a little diner and we sat at a booth with one of those little table juke boxes. It was still morning. Craig didn't get home until three. Albert would be at the hospital all day. I tried to relax. Glanced at Joey, glanced away. Felt him looking at me and I felt myself start to blush. He was joking and I forgot myself, laughed out loud. I felt like I'd forgotten about laughing and then I was near tears again, thinking about how miserable I had become. How much I not only didn't love Albert but hated him. Hated what he was doing to me. Hated what he was doing to Craig. Hated seeing him in Craig, in certain tones of his voice and certain expressions and I feared for my son. _How much like his father was he?_ I was fucked, despite the nice house and the appearance that things were fine.

We had two cups of coffee and I wanted to have a thousand more. I didn't want to leave. I felt the infatuation warm and bright inside of me, but I had to examine things. I liked Joey very quickly, but was it only a reaction to Albert? Was it only because I wasn't happy with Albert? I wasn't sure of my own motivations in this. But with those cups of coffee and talking and laughing I knew something had started. Something that would turn into something. I didn't know what.

"I've got to go," I said, and when I left I looked in my rearview mirror at him. His eyes followed my car as it sped away. Dread filled my cells, dripping in like a morphine drip, numbing everything. Dreaded that big beautiful house with the stone walkways and the full wall fireplace and the gleaming oak floors. Dreaded when Albert would slam through the door, the anger and tension on his face. Dreaded the quick fearful glance Craig would give his father.

My head was buzzing with coffee, with thoughts of Joey. Joey Jeremiah. I liked his laugh. I liked his sense of humor. I liked the feeling that I could trust him. But it was twinned by the feelings I had for Albert. Dull fear. Sharp anger. Resentment. And so much of it was turned inward now. I hated myself. Resented myself. Maybe I had done that because anger toward Albert didn't work out that great. Fights had been on a different level when the emotions were focused on him and not myself. When I knew what I really thought. I didn't know where I was anymore.

Craig came home. I smiled at him but it felt forced. What kind of a mother was I for him? He was growing up in a toxic environment. I couldn't even take care of myself, let alone him. I was failing on so many levels. My marriage was this landmine. It was Vietnam. The next step could reveal the buried booby trap. I was getting a headache. Craig was watching T.V. He seemed okay. Sometimes he seemed okay but I didn't think he was, not really. Craig had seen or heard most of our fights. What was it doing to him? He'd be in therapy years later talking about us, saying how we fucked him up for good. I felt, for a dizzy second, that I was in his past and had the chance to stop more terrible things from happening. Maybe I could salvage some part of his childhood.

The phone rang and I jumped. Maybe it was Joey. But Joey shouldn't be calling here. I didn't give him my number. If he called while Albert was home…

"Hello?"

"Julia."

It was Albert. He sounded like he usually did on the phone. Business like. I swallowed, wondered what he wanted.

"Hello, Albert,"

"Julia, we're going to dinner tonight. Wear something fancy, and have Craig wear a jacket and tie. I'll pick you up at eight,"

"Oh, uh, okay,"

"Okay. I love you," he said.

"I love you, too,"

I choke on the words because by this point I know that they are a lie. He says it like some sort of possessiveness. Like it's not that he loves me but that he owns me. He loves me like he would love some object, not a person with thoughts and feelings. Not someone he has to consider in any way.

I give Craig a snack because eight o'clock is a long ways off. It's actually too late to be bringing a third grader out to dinner on a school night. But I have no say. Albert wants to go to dinner at eight and that's that.

So I put on my black cocktail dress and high heels and I make Craig wear his little jacket and tie. He looks like the tie is choking him but he doesn't question it, either. It makes me sad that Craig tries so hard to be good. He tries to be good for his father and I wish I could tell him that it won't work, even though I do the same thing.

Albert sweeps in, all dressed up and I have to admit he looks good. His sharp eyes behind the black rimmed glasses, the tailored cut of his clothes. When we go out I pretend that things are different. I pretend that we're happily married, that things are fine. And I look forward to the cocktails I'll drink. Maybe I'll have a martini. Maybe I'll have a Manhattan with southern comfort. The meals at these fancy French restaurants tend to be drawn out and slow, and I'll drink and I'll watch Craig get sleepy and I'll listen to Albert ramble on about work stuff that I don't know the first thing about.

I get in the car, passenger side, Craig gets in the back. My feet feel funny in the spike heels but I know Albert likes them. Craig is sitting up straight in the back seat. Albert pulls smoothly out of the garage and onto the street. I am intimidated by his intelligence. He's a surgeon, a specialist. He not only got into medical school, which is highly competitive, but he was at the top of his class. He absorbs information like no one I'd ever met. Me, on the other hand, I felt fuzzy a lot of the times. I don't think I could attend a community college and do well. Not at this point. I did go to college, got my useless degree, but it seemed eons ago. I was a different girl then, not so worn down, so overwhelmed.

Candlelight, cocktails, Albert making an effort. I know when he's making an effort but it's too late. I don't love him anymore and nothing he does can change that. I can close my eyes and see that morning again, the black bruises on my arms. I'd never seen anything quite like it, those uniformly black bruises on both upper arms and I had stared into the mirror with genuine awe. The dull ache, the constant low pain under the skin.

In a way I didn't care about myself or what Albert did to me. Who cares? But Craig is another story. He doesn't get angry with Craig as often as he does with me. Only once in awhile. And he doesn't beat him, it isn't like that. Spankings, I guess you'd say. And Craig has deserved them, I suppose. I don't like the idea of spanking a child but it isn't something that is…well, so terrible. But it's our fights that aren't good for Craig and if I left, if one of us left, that might make things better for Craig. Better in the long run.


	4. Chapter 4

Driving home, and it's late. Craig is sleeping in the back seat, and my head feels buzzed from the three cocktails I had. I love cocktails, like some groovy 50's thing. I had a book on how to make them, but they're great in restaurants, especially the restaurants we go to, that Albert brings us to. Fancy four star you bet your ass they're fancy restaurants.

At home, Albert carries Craig into the house and Craig looks all warm and sleepy, one arm slung around Albert's neck. And I feel a little bit of the love I once had for Albert recur, and in a way those are the worst times, because feeling that love again makes me also mourn the loss of it.

He carries Craig upstairs, walking gently so as not to disturb him, and I head into the kitchen for a night cap. Nothing much, since the three drinks I had at the restaurant were strong, but something. Maybe a dry white wine.

I was drunk, sort of. Nearly drunk. And when I was pretty well drunk like this I could admit things I wouldn't when I was sober, things I more or less hid from myself. I poured myself a glass of wine into one of the fine crystal wine glasses. The only light that was on was the dim row of lights that were above the sink, stainless steel, the counter tops were a black marble. I lived in luxury, and when I was drunk I could admit that sometimes I didn't want to leave it, despite the fights and the beatings and Craig being afraid and absolutely hating my husband and my life and myself. Money goes a long way, and what would I do if I left him? Where would I go?

"He's asleep," Albert said, coming into the kitchen, his tie loose and draped around his neck, and the dim light shines on the silk. I nod. Things are okay tonight, who knows why? Maybe he had a good day at work. But there was no danger. I could sense when there was, like some wild animal I could sense it. He was looking at me like he loved me, like he thought I was sexy.

"Good," I say softly, thinking that he's in third grade and it's past 10 o'clock and he'd be so tired in school tomorrow, poor baby. But I smiled, too. No need to start an argument in the calm. I wasn't that stupid anymore. Or maybe I was beaten down. I had opinions but kept them to myself. Albert was in control in this relationship and we both knew it.

"You look good tonight," he said, stepping toward me. I smiled and put my head down. It was a sexy dress, I knew. Lately I hadn't given a shit how I looked. It didn't seem to matter anymore. He put his arms around me and kissed me.

We would have sex tonight. I could tell that, too. I knew almost everything he would do before he did it. If we were going to have a fight I could tell the second he stepped through the door. Since he wanted to we would, because I never went against him anymore. It wasn't worth risking his violence. I tried to lay low, basically, when he was home. It was like tiptoeing around a tiger. No sudden moves.

Upstairs in the king sized bed, and thank God I was drunk because sex was unbearable if I wasn't. I was really screwed up, I knew it, even drunk I knew it. How could you have sex with someone who beats you? It didn't make sense to me. I thought of our "fights". Fights. That's the euphemism I used in my head, when I talked to people about it, only telling them half. We had a fight. Albert and I fought. What actually happened was Albert would be mad for basically no reason and then he'd be punching me, so hard and over and over. Running from him. Up the stairs, slamming into rooms. If Craig was home he'd be hiding, usually in his closet. Craig. I cringed to think of what Craig has heard and seen. What would he do when he got older? Would he think this sort of fighting is normal? Would he hit his girlfriends and his wife? He might. I loved Craig and he was a good little boy but you never knew. Whatever insane rage and violence that was in Albert could be in Craig, too.

So we had sex, and Albert was pretty good at it, even though I hadn't had sex with all that many people I still knew he was good. But I turned my head and felt the tears start, because I didn't like being touched by him in any way anymore, good or bad.

Next morning, Craig was sleepy. Poor kid. No coffee pick me up for him. Albert had left early, some early meeting or surgery or who knew? I sipped my coffee, hugged myself in my silk robe, watched Craig tiredly eat his cereal. Looked out the window at our perfect emerald green lawn, the blue sky and yellow sun. The yard was perfect. We had landscape people. Every blade of grass was perfectly fertilized. Something had to change. This life I was leading, it had to change. I never felt like I would stay with Albert forever. I didn't think I would. I just had to figure out how I'd get away.

I wanted to see Joey again. Again and again. I wanted to dress casual and put on a little makeup and go and see him, laugh and flirt and feel almost good for once. Forget for a brief time my scary marriage and my little screwed up kid and all the money that couldn't make it any better. The storms of my life. It was my life and I only got one. I couldn't spend it in Albert's shadow. I couldn't spend it watching Craig get as violent and twisted as his father. I couldn't spend it hiding bruises and hiding my emotions and stuffing things down and feeling split into two, three, four. There were so many me's now adays. There was the me who I sort of always thought I was, there was the me that allowed Albert to hit me and treat me like shit. There was the me that was Craig's mother. There was the me that screamed inside of my head that Albert wasn't worth it, that he was a loser and deserved the burning bed, that he deserved to be told off and left and fuck him.

When I was with Joey I felt whole. I felt like all the me's were fused into one almost normal woman. Almost normal person. Someone who might be able to function without so much alcohol. Things seemed good and possible with Joey. And I'd just met him. Maybe I was delusional. Maybe I was going crazy. I thought I might be. Albert was making me crazy.

At the car lot, the cars all shining in the sun, different colors like colored beads, red and blues and yellows and greens. I saw Joey in his blazer and tie, talking to people who wandered between the cars. Joey. Sharp eyes, nice smile. I swallowed, blinked in the sun.

He saw me and the smile widened.

"Julia," he said, and I smiled, too.

"Hi, Joey," I said, and I liked how similar our names were, like twins or something, Joey and Julia. It went so nice together. He sauntered over, tipped an imaginary hat at me, took my hand and kissed it.

"What brings you here on this fine day?" he said, and I smiled again.

"You,"


	5. Chapter 5

Coffee places, little pizza joints, clubs. Sneaking around with Joey when I could, I wondered what he thought. It was becoming an affair. Well, it was in my head, at any rate. We still hadn't technically done anything.

But I liked him. I liked the feeling of ease I had around him. I never felt that way around Albert. I really hated Albert. I hated him and I couldn't forgive him and I was going to leave him. It was just a matter of time, a matter of when. It wasn't an if anymore, a maybe or perhaps. I would leave him because I wouldn't be like that woman with her nose all bashed in on the news a few years ago, or like that "Burning Bed" thing. No, no, no.

There was Craig to consider. I would watch him eating cereal in the morning, walking to the bus stop with his back pack on his back, his curly hair touching the collar of his jacket. Coming home, running sometimes, bursting through the front door, showing me papers and talking about school things. I didn't know what to do about Craig.

It was difficult to think about leaving Albert, though. It would take quite a bit of initiative, something I had been sorely lacking for quite some time now. I liked to just drift along. See Joey during the day or when Albert was away at some conference or something. Go home to my lovely big house, take care of things there as I had for years. It was just a matter of weathering the storms, just a matter of bobbing and weaving when Albert got violent.

What I'd waited for came up. Albert had a medical conference in Vancouver. He'd be gone all weekend. I bit my cheek to stop from smiling when he told me. I was in bed, reading a trashy paperback. I couldn't even focus on serious things to read. I used to read Jean Paul Sartre, Nietche, Hawkings. No more. I couldn't think. 

I watched him pack his suitcase, all those nice suits, socks folded so neat, the ties in their special place. Albert was such a methodical man. I shifted under the silk sheets, listened to the rustle of silk against silk almost like leaves scraping along a road in fall, almost like the light brush of sandpaper along a wood plane. The thought of him being gone all weekend was so delicious, such a reprieve.

The next day I was at the car lot, my hands in the pockets of my light winter jacket, my hair blowing across my face. Joey sauntered over.

"Mrs. Manning," he greeted me, teasing, and I scowled at him.

"It's Julia, please," I said, and it had become this joke with us, this loaded joke about my married name. I think maybe we both knew that that wouldn't be my name for long.

So I told him of my husband's impending absence, and he smiled, and I liked the slight crookedness of his teeth. Liked everything about him. If I could have what I wanted it would be, it really would be to be with Joey. To leave Albert behind, to take Craig and marry Joey and live, well, more how I wanted to live. But leaving Albert wouldn't be quite that simple.

So Albert left on a plane, and I thought for one vicious second wouldn't it be nice if the plane crashed? Then I felt terrible. Many times in my marriage I have hated Albert, hated him with this bitter, disillusioned hate. But it wasn't many times that I wished for his death. I didn't want to wish that. He wasn't all bad, he wasn't. He was a good provider, he gave me, materially, everything I wanted. He was smart. In his profession he helped a great many people. He could be sensitive, understanding, caring. He loved Craig, I had no doubt about that. And I thought, many times I thought that he loved me. I think he did.

Friday night. Albert had left Friday morning. I hired a teenage babysitter for Craig. Teenagers loved to babysit for us because we paid very well. And this babysitter was just what I wanted, a mousy nerdy girl with limp blond hair and glasses that slid down her nose, and she brought a bunch of school books with her. Her name was Mindy.

"Hi, Mindy," I said, slipping into my high heels, fixing my mascara. Craig was in the living room watching some Disney movie. 

"He can stay up until nine, and of course help yourself to anything you want to eat," I told her, feeling like the queen of the castle. Feeling giddy because Albert was gone. Mindy nodded at me, and I went into the living room and kissed Craig goodbye.

I met Joey at a dark little bar, and I slid into the booth next to him. I didn't even think I'd need alcohol tonight. So I just got a little wine and sipped it, and felt good being sober. Joey joked and I laughed and laughed, and I realized again how I never laughed anymore, and how I really missed it.

There was dancing on the little dance floor, and a slow song started up. Joey stood up, held out his hand to me.

"Care to dance, Mrs. Manning?"

I nodded, took his hand and let him lead me to the dance floor. I draped my arms around him, swayed to the music, closed my eyes. I felt at home when I was with him, when I was in his arms. I felt almost like I could be the me I wanted to be, not this pathetic little dishrag that I was.

The song came to a stop, and everyone still kind of stood there waiting for the next one. Joey smiled at me, a slow and sexy smile, and then he leaned in, I closed my eyes and kissed him. It felt so right, so absolutely right but I knew it was wrong, too. I was married. Married. This was not my husband. I was dancing with him, thinking about him, spending way too much time with him, and now kissing him. Adultery. I was going to go to hell. Going to hell in a hand basket. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. Go straight to hell. But I kissed him again because it felt good and despite being wrong it felt right.

I might have been screwed. Dancing with Joey, twirling around the dance floor. But in a way this was only pretend. Only make-believe. Albert was away and the mice were playing but he'd be back. He'd be back and he'd get stressed out and he'd get angry, such anger that it was almost breathtaking. His anger could fill a room. You could feel it like water, like wind, like something all around you, something thick and smothering and something you could never quite breathe through. Something that might kill you.

Yeah, this was only play. The real work was ahead of me. Leaving him. Fighting over Craig, traumatizing him. I didn't want our divorce to traumatize Craig but I couldn't see how to stop that. Maybe if I just let him live with Albert. I'll visit him every day. Every day. But I couldn't see my way to fighting for him. Albert had all the money. How could I fight? How could I compete? And Craig would be fine with him, maybe even better off. Maybe I could just do that.

It was getting late, the moon dimly shining from a different spot in the sky. I held Joey's hand, touched the surface of his nails with my fingertip.

"We can go back to my house," I said shyly, "Albert's away,"

His eyes widened and I didn't know if he thought that was a good idea or not. Probably not. But he shrugged and we got in our cars and drove, he was behind me. I kept checking in my rearview for him, comforted by seeing his car behind mine. I pulled into the driveway and he pulled behind me. Mindy's car was behind Albert's on the other side.

We got out of our cars and I saw the look in his eyes when he saw my house. Albert's house. A surgeon's money could buy a nice house.

"Jesus, Julia, you live here? No wonder you could pay cash for that car…"

"Yeah. No wonder. Come on, but be quiet. Craig's sleeping,"


	6. Chapter 6

Tip toeing into the house, the lights low, the T.V. on in the living room. I shushed Joey and had him stay hidden in a corner of the kitchen while I shook Mindy awake. She was on the couch covered in the afghan, her glasses on the coffee table. I paid her and sent her on her way, after asking how Craig was. She said what I knew she would say, that he was great. He never gave anyone any trouble, which was pat of the reason why I worried about him.

"She's gone," I said, giggling, falling into him as Mindy's car pulled away.

"That's good," he said, putting his arms around me. I felt like such a criminal having him here in my kitchen, Albert's kitchen, Albert's house.

"Yep," I said, smiling up at him. I felt so safe in his arms. I kissed him, and felt like I was home.

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It physically hurt me to see him go, but he had to. I stood in the house and watched him cross the black topped driveway, watched him unlock his car and pull on the handle. Watched the car swallow him whole. The headlights flicked on and he drove away and I hugged myself. This was it. This empty feeling had me decided. I had to leave this house, this marriage, this life.

Up the stairs, the carpet as thick as a gymnast's mat, I crept along the dark hallway until I reached Craig's room. By the moonlight outside his window I could see him sleeping, the covers all wrinkled around him. I could hear him breathing. So sweet. Such a good boy. I'd have to leave him here. It couldn't be helped.

I didn't think I'd leave tomorrow, or this week or even this month. But I would leave. This year. When the time was right. And I'd see Joey every chance I got. In my bedroom, Albert's bedroom, the bedside lamp on, the book open and unread on my lap, I was resolved. Resolving. I wasn't going to live this life anymore.

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Morning time, my coffee merrily brewing. Craig was still upstairs sleeping. I tapped my long manicured nails on the table top. I wouldn't see Joey today, despite wanting to. I was going to spend the day with Craig.

I put in a few sugars and some cream into my coffee cup, watching the cream swirl in in its odd equations, turning the coffee from black to pale black. I was going to spend the day with Craig because I felt like a lousy mother. I didn't protect him from anything, I exposed him to a violent and tense home life. Craig was afraid a lot of the time. I could see it. That wasn't any way to be a kid.

I took a deep breath when I heard him coming down the stairs. I was actually a little afraid of him, afraid of the failure I was making of this motherhood thing.

"Hi, mom," he said, and I gazed at his sleep wild curly hair, his large hazel eyes, pale skin like Albert. Felt the love try to spill over into my tears but I wouldn't cry. Things would be okay. They had to be.

"Hi, honey," I said, and stood up to get him some cereal and orange juice.

Craig and I never talked about Albert or his temper. We pretended things were fine to each other just as we did with ourselves so I didn't know what he was thinking or feeling. And I didn't know if Albert had ever hurt him worse than what I had seen. I didn't think I wanted to know, not before.

I poured the cereal and the milk into his bowl, dug out a spoon from the drawer, set it in front of him. I was seriously considering leaving him with Albert. That was the consideration because I couldn't afford to fight for him. I would never win. Albert had all the resources. But if things were worse for Craig than I thought then I couldn't do that. I couldn't just leave him in that case and so I had to know. I'd have to ask him. I looked at his sleepy morning face, at the slow chewing of his cereal, the blinking of his eyes. I didn't want to ask him but more than that, I didn't want to hear anything I didn't want to hear.


	7. Chapter 7

How could I ask him this? I knew Albert didn't hurt him, didn't hit him like he hit me. He spanked Craig from time to time, and only when he deserved it. I wasn't such a fan of spanking but it wasn't abuse. It wasn't. I thought back to the times he'd been spanked. Once when he ran into the road. Once when he threw a tantrum over some toy or video game or something. Only in the most extreme circumstances. No, no. Albert didn't hurt him.

I sipped my coffee, feeling the warmth fill me. I looked out the window at our green lawn dripping in the morning dew, the beautiful stone work along our driveway. The driveway itself was so smooth and black, almost like a mirror. I was making mountains out of mole hills. Craig was fine.

I took a deep breath, watched him spoon the cereal into his mouth and sip his juice. Such a good boy. So different, temperamentally, from his father. Craig was calm where Albert was tense. Craig was laid back and easy going where Albert was high strung and given to outbursts. But if I left him to Albert's mercy what would happen? How would he change? And what would Albert do if he only had Craig to take things out on?

"Um, Craig," I started, feeling the awkwardness of the words, words with angles in my mouth. He looked up at me expectantly. I felt the tears coming. I was lying to myself. This wasn't okay, none of this was okay. I have seen the veiled terror on my son's face when his father comes home in a foul temper.

"I want to ask you something," I said, and now the expectant look became subtly suspicious. Craig was in tune with things, with me and my moods as well as Albert's. I didn't know if this was normal behavior or not. He was so very watchful.

"Has your father ever hurt you?" I said, and it was like vomit, that sentence. It was something sicked up, acidic stomach juices and chunks of food splattered on the table in front of us. I looked at him and he looked back at me, and the suspicion turned to puzzlement.

"No," he said, the word just so slightly stretched out, making me think it was untrue. So there it was. Albert hadn't hurt him, but that didn't mean he wouldn't. That didn't mean he won't. I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples. I couldn't be responsible for every single thing Albert would or wouldn't do, the whole future stretching forth with all its unknowns. I could only deal with right now.

"Okay," I said, trying to sound light. Craig wasn't buying it. He was looking at me from the sides of his eyes like I might be just a little crazy.

I shook my head and dumped the end of my coffee into the sink. Craig carried his empty cereal bowl to the dishwasher. I told him to get ready because we were going out. He smiled, all the puzzlement and suspicion fading away in that bright smile. It would be okay, sure. Everything would be fine.

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It was nine P.M. Craig was upstairs sleeping. I was downstairs on the couch, the T.V. a comforting background drone. We'd had an exhausting day of parks and arcades and pizza parlors and toy stores. I watched Craig run around in his blue jeans and polo shirt, laughing and smiling like a real kid for once, not all dressed up in a suit and tie at a fancy restaurant.

The phone rang and like a psychic I knew it was Joey. I could feel him on the other end of the line the second I put my hand on the phone. My heartbeat quickened.

"Hello?" I said, and in the silence I knew that I would leave Albert sooner rather than later and that I would leave Craig with him. There was nothing else to do. I had no choice.

"Hello, Mrs. Manning?" Joey, and I could hear the smile in his voice.

"Hi," I said, and reminded him again to call me Julia.


End file.
